


The unknown elf

by CrowHorse1, Dreamsnake



Series: The Thranduil Collection [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowHorse1/pseuds/CrowHorse1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamsnake/pseuds/Dreamsnake
Summary: After the War of the Ring, Legolas is determined that Gimli meet his father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood. Gimli isn't so keen. Fate intervenes.





	1. Chapter 1

 

"Why did I agree to this madness?" Gimli stroked his beard absently, casting a suspicious glance over the outskirts of the forest that lay across the valley like a wintry cloak. "I don't like the look of this place.”

"You don't like the look of my home?" A dangerous glint appeared in the blue eyes of the elf at his side. "It seems to me that it is more inviting than halls of cold stone."

 Gimli snorted. "To you, maybe. There's nothing wrong with a little substance over your head."

 "Then all is well." Legolas said mildly. "No doubt you will appreciate your stay in the Halls of my father. They are quite substantial."

 "I think, Master Elf, the question is more whether your father will appreciate a dwarf staying in his Halls."

 The corner of Legolas's mouth lifted in amusement. "He has accommodated dwarves before."

 "Aye. In his dungeons."

 The elf laughed, delighted. "I assure you, Master Gimli, I have no intention of allowing my father to put you in a dungeon."

 Gimli tugged at his belt and straightened his tunic, not yet quite prepared to take that first step into Mirkwood. "I have not heard it said that anyone tells the Elven King what to do, even his son."

 Legolas sent him a mischievous glance. "You have faced the might of Mordor. Surely you cannot be unnerved at the thought of meeting my father? Besides, we are several days hence. I have business in Lake Town first.”

Gimli drew himself up to his full height, his voice laden with scorn as he stepped out with determination. "I have nothing to fear from an elderly elf."

.

So it was that Gimli found himself at a loose end for a couple of days in a small inn, recently constructed at the point where the Forest River ran into Long Lake. There he was left to kick his heels while Legolas took himself off by boat to collect several packages and procure a replacement for their lamed horse. It was not customary, the elf told him, for him to arrive on foot at his father’s Halls with a guest.

In truth, Gimli was glad of the respite from travel, and the ale was more than good enough to wash down a hearty home-cooked breakfast. A couple of hours later, bored and wishing to work up an appetite for lunch, he took a lengthy stroll along the deserted banks of the river, wondering just where it was that his father and Thorin Oakenshield’s company had alighted from their barrels back in the days of Smaug.

It was hard to hear anything over the roar of the river. Full of spring melt water, it was nearly bursting its banks, roaring and smashing its way across half-submerged boulders on its way to the lake. Even so, some sixth sense, honed in the recent battles against Sauron, brought the dwarf's head up and caused his hand to move uneasily to his axe handle. He waited a while, sure for a moment he had heard a distant shout and the strike of metal against stone.

There was no further indication of violence and eventually Gimli turned back towards the lake, casting regular and suspicious glances behind him. It was on one of those occasions that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something in the river that looked out of place.

A dark bundle swept towards him at speed, tugged under the surface at one moment, bobbing up the next, until a random undercurrent sucked it into a calmer area of water behind some rocks close to the dwarf. The bundle collided with the boulders with force and began to sink, rolling over as it did so to reveal a face, pale against the green waters.

With a startled curse, Gimli jumped cautiously onto the water-slick rock and reached down to grasp at sodden clothing, with little hope that anyone could have survived such a trip downriver, especially as the water was bitterly cold, numbing his fingers almost immediately. With a heady rush of adrenaline in the dwarf's favour, the figure came out of the deep water easily enough, proving to be both longer and lighter than expected. 

Gimli hauled it unceremoniously onto the shingle, catching a glimpse of a pointed ear through a tangled mess of wet hair. It would be a poor homecoming for his friend, he mused, to discover one of the elves of Mirkwood had drowned in the river.

It seemed he must have spoken out loud, because to his shock the bedraggled figure swatted at his hand in a most ungrateful manner and snarled something about being likely to live longer than any miserable dwarf.

Resisting an overwhelming urge to throw the elf back into the torrent, Gimli tightened his grip and hauled him onto the sparse grass of the bank, where the ellon promptly turned over and proceeded to vomit up large quantities of river water.

The dwarf's friendship with Legolas had brought him face to face with the stubborn pride of elves on more than one occasion, and so he begrudgingly allowed that such pride would suffer greatly at being swept away by the river, and then being rescued by none other than a dwarf. Besides, despite his irritation, Gimli found it difficult not to feel sorry for the being, as he was trembling visibly with cold and shock, and trying with shaking hands to pull aside the long hair plastered to his face and clothing.

"Did you fall in, laddie?" He asked in a kindly tone.

The elf gave a final retch and looked up, anger burning in eyes as blue as glacier ice.

"I do not make a habit of bathing in my clothes."

He struggled to his feet, somewhat hampered by the weight and cling of sodden cloth, and let loose a few choice curses with a general theme of self-recrimination.

Gimli hovered warily, half expecting the elf to fall face-first back upon the grass, but long legs buckled and then recovered, conveying the ellon to the nearest boulder where he flopped down with a singular lack of grace.

Once seated, he seemed to gather himself and raised his head to stare at the dwarf with a stern expression, his pale face wearing a slight tint of embarrassment and a thin and watery streak of blood from a darkening bruise on his temple. He really was very tall, Gimli thought. Even folded in half as he was, their eyes were more or less on the same level.

“I believe I owe you my gratitude.”

The voice was unexpectedly deep and calm, although a little husky after the unpleasant expulsion of river water.

“I’d have done the same for anyone.”

It came out more gruff than Gimli intended, still rankling at the dwarf comment as he was.

A penetrating gaze swept over him, seeming to find and linger on all his faults. It was unnerving, even though Gimli was accustomed to the way Legolas, on occasion, seemed to look right inside his head. He cleared his throat, annoyed that this river flotsam made him nervous, and gestured with his thumb at the river.

"How did you...?" A fair question he thought, as elves were known for their surety of balance.

“An unexpected encounter with a dark creature.”

The elf’s hand fell to his hip as he spoke, a flicker of relief crossing his features as his fingers encountered something beneath the wet cloak. His sharp eyes did not miss Gimli’s instinctive sweep of hand towards axe handle and the way the dwarf scanned the river banks.

“He is quite dead.” The comment was almost disdainful, as though there could have been no other possible outcome.

“Aye, and you will be too, if you don’t get out of those wet clothes. You're freezing.”

Despite elves’ renowned resilience when it came to extremes of temperature, the ellon was shuddering, although he was trying to hide it, keeping his shoulders tense beneath wet cloth and his jaw tight as though forcefully preventing his teeth from chattering. He looked quite affronted at the suggestion and stood up abruptly, casting his torn cloak to the ground with a haughty air.

“It will take more than a little river water to finish me.”

He glanced about him, seeming to get his bearings, and then set off in the direction of the inn, leaving Gimli to stay or follow as he pleased.

The dwarf poked the expensive material of the embroidered cloak with the toe of his boot and shook his head. This really was the most arrogant of elves, and he had no choice but to follow, as he was heading in that direction anyway.

After a few minutes of walking, the ellon looked back over his shoulder.

“What cause have you to linger on the river bank?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, elf, but I'm lodging at the inn, waiting for a friend.”

The elf stopped and half-turned in his tracks. “You are not from these parts,” he stated, seeming almost relieved. “You do not know the elves who dwell here?”

Gimli declined to mention he knew one of them very well indeed. “I do not.”

“The mortals who dwell in the inn, I believe they are also new to these parts?”

“So they said.”

The relief this time was unmistakeable, causing a visible alteration in posture. It appeared that the elf did not wish to be recognised; he must be watched with care, especially in view of the wicked appearance of the silver swords hanging one each side of his waist. For all that, he didn’t look too likely to cause any trouble at the present time, the relaxation in posture having set free a fresh wave of shivers that made his ridiculously long legs shake and his matted hair dance upon his back.

Much to his own surprise, and despite the snowflakes scattered in the bitter wind, Gimli found himself unfastening his cloak and holding it out.

“Here.”

For a moment it seemed the elf would refuse, but this was not the time for pride, not with ice stiffening the wet clothing.

“Put it on, laddie. I can't stand to see you shivering like that. Keep your strength for walking; you're too lanky to carry.”

The elf’s eyes widened, becoming impossibly blue and innocent as he absorbed the kind gesture. For the briefest of moments he reminded Gimli of Legolas, on those rare occasions when his friend dropped his guard of humour and defiance.

“Here,” the dwarf repeated, gruff and slightly embarrassed by the inquisitive tilt of the elf’s head as he reached out and snared the cloak with a long and slender hand. “It'll stop the wind well enough, though it'll be a mite short.”

"Indeed." A small curve appeared on the ellon’s lips, softening his features subtly and making it obvious, despite the river grime, that he had the fine bones of his race. "For all that, I am most grateful.”

He was a wild but regal creature, thought Gimli, finding himself caught off-guard by the unexpected courtesy. He thought that perhaps a muddied and wet Shadowfax would look much the same.

It was as well that the frugal dwelling was not a great distance from the place of Gimli's efficient rescue. Even so, it took them the best part of an hour, the elf's pace slowing noticeably as the minutes ticked by. Gimli strongly suspected that if it hadn't been for his presence, and a strong dose of stubbornness, the ellon would have faltered long before the inn was in sight. The resilience of elven kind was truly remarkable; any mortal would have succumbed to cold and shock soon after emerging from the icy river.

Even so, his companion's features were becoming increasingly drawn, and Gimli sought to divert his attention from his discomfort with conversation. At the same time he could perhaps learn whether or not a horde of irritated elves were likely to descend upon him without warning.

"Well elf, I don't suppose you were planning to visit the Inn. Will your kin know where to find you?"

The elf gave the question wary consideration and must have decided that if Gimli meant him harm, he'd already had ample opportunity.

"I don't believe I shall be missed for some time."

"You say you killed a dark creature?"

"An yrch!" The ellon almost spat the words, so great was his distaste. "There are still some stragglers in dark corners. Soon we shall eradicate them all."

It seemed unlikely someone with such weapons would be easy prey to a single orc, but the elf had fallen in the river after all. Perhaps he was even younger than Gimli thought and had been kept away from the major battles for that part of Middle Earth?

"Do you have much experience facing orcs, Master Elf?"

The ellon's head turned to him. "I have faced a few, here and there," he said in a dismissive tone. "Not so my mount. He was somewhat startled and has run to the safety of his herd. He will no doubt return when he feels ready, and will be the braver for it next time."

Gimli snorted a laugh. "He dumped you and ran? You don't seem bothered by it."

"Of course not." The elf was genuinely surprised. "The service of the creatures of the forest is a gift, not an expectation."

The words brought them within sight of the inn, and in short order they were standing in Gimli's room before a roaring fire. With only rudimentary washing facilities available, the ellon had declined to remove his inner garments and instead stood close to the heat, steam rising in small clouds from his leggings and tunic while he picked miserably at the debris in his hair, seeking to bring it to some sort of order by dragging his fingers through the matted knots.

Gimli watched him with sympathy, being the possessor of a considerable amount of hair on his own person. He thought the elf looked more upset at the tangled mess than anything else that had befallen him. Being kinder than his gruff nature suggested, and not liking to see his companion so melancholy, Gimli took the comb from his pack, carefully discarded an accumulation of red hair and placed the small tool in the elf's hand. He received a surprised nod of thanks, once again the elf’s face softening from its haughty expression, eyes almost luminous with gratitude. A damnation on all elves, thought Gimli irritably. It must be a part of their nature that they could so easily swing from being proud and wise to the gentle innocence of young child. It puzzled him greatly that the ellon, despite the obvious quality of his fine clothes and weapons, was so surprised at small kindnesses. Almost as though the possession of monetary wealth had been accompanied by a poverty of simple affection.

A savoury waft announced the arrival of hot soup and rustic bread. Gimli set to with gusto, slurping and belching at appropriate times and occasionally noticing, but ignoring, a restrained wince from the elf, who ate a small amount of his own portion with a marked lack of enthusiasm. It was a shame, thought Gimli, for the ellon could have done with a hot meal inside him, although it was hardly surprising he could not stomach one after his extended bout of vomiting.

As soon as the dishes were collected, the elf retired to a chair next to the hearth where he continued to comb through his hair as it dried, regularly casting bits of debris into the fire and gradually turning the wet mass into silky, pale strands that reached almost to his waist, longer even than that of Legolas.

It put Gimli in mind of a conversation with his friend, when they had been discussing the nature of elves. “You are Sindar, Master Elf?”

The ellon shot him a keen glance. “You know something of elves then?”

“A little. Enough to know that's uncommon colouring for a Silvan.”

“I am Sindar," he agreed." But how does a dwarf come to know of such elven matters?”

“I have the great good fortune to call one a friend.”

A dark eyebrow raised in surprise.

“That is unusual.”

“It was not expected,” admitted the dwarf. “But it seems dark times bring unusual allies.”

“That is so.” The ellon paused, considering. “Does this friend hail from Mirkwood perhaps? 

"Aye." Gimli poured them both a draught of the dark, nutty beer. "He's got his heart set on me meeting his father, although I can't say I'm fond of the idea myself."

"It is not customary to find a dwarf in Mirkwood. Although it has been known." 

Gimli quaffed his ale and snorted, inadvertently spraying some foam over the hearth rug. "I heard the Elven King's custom is to throw dwarves into his dungeons. I've no wish to spend the night in a damp hole in the ground to satisfy his bad humour, although," he added generously, "it's understandable he's a little crotchety, given his advanced years."

The ellon placed his tankard down on the table. It did not appear that he'd taken even a sip. "I dare say he had his reasons for such an incarceration," he said carefully.

"Do you not want that ale, Master Elf?" Letting good beer go stale was a tragedy in Gimli's opinion.

The tankard was pushed in his direction, a strange look on the elf's face. "Might I enquire as to the name of your friend?"

"Legolas," boomed Gimli, taking a gulp of the fine brew. "And a finer friend no dwarf could ask for!"

The response was somewhat terse, any expression hidden by the fall of his hair as the elf bent forwards to knead his brow. "I would know more of this friendship between a dwarf and an elf."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the warm feeling brought about by good food and ale, Gimli felt a change in the atmosphere of the room, as though a small but icy draft had made its way through the sturdy window frame. He shivered a little and shuffled his chair closer to the fire.

"It makes a strange tale," he said slowly, stroking his beard in a reflective way as memories of those early days ran through his head. "I didn't take to the lad at first, to tell the truth, nor him to me. Too much enmity between our folk for us to be more than civil to each other, and even that was enough of a struggle at times."

He glanced at the elf, but could see nothing of his expression through the sheet of pale hair, although there was a certain rigidity about his shoulders. It was difficult to explain to this stranger how a healthy dislike had turned first to an uneasy alliance, then to grudging acceptance and finally to the warmth of friendship, but fortunately Gimli's folk had a strong tradition of tale telling and as he spoke the dwarf gained confidence. A stammered explanation became an eloquent and detailed narration of the events since the fellowship was formed in Rivendell, and the dwarf's gruff tones mellowed with the warmth of his affection. In time the elf raised his head, saying nothing but watching Gimli with intensity, as though he hung on his every word.

"So you see," Gimli concluded at last. "It may be unusual, but 'tis a true friendship and I'll let none say otherwise."

"It seems you have been through much together."

"Aye," agreed the dwarf, wondering at the reason for the pain on the ellon's face. "And I would gladly do so again if he needed me at his side."

"You care for...your friend?"

"As though he were my own blood." Gimli gave the elf a fierce look. "I, Gimli, son of Gloin, would die for him, if it were necessary.”

"That is a great friendship indeed." The elf seemed tired and upset, as though the pictures of peril and hardship painted by Gimli's words had caused him deep distress. "It is well that you were there, in times of such great need, when his own kin were far away."

"I would have it no other way. I only hope his father does not take exception to our comradeship. I hear he has a very nasty temper."

"Does the son speak so ill of his father then?"

"What? No. Far from it. Loyal to a fault is Legolas. Although sometimes I get the impression things weren't always easy between them. The lad has found no end of excuses to delay our journey, so it may be he’s more than a little troubled about his reception.”

The elf sighed, the spill of light from the lamp painting his face with golden light and casting shadows beneath the elegant bones of cheek and jaw, making him appear both fair beyond belief and haunted with sorrow.

Gimli frowned at him in concern. "Are you alright, laddie? You're not looking so well."

"I am well enough. Although I might not be if a dwarf had not pulled me from the river's clutches." The ellon's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, preparatory to rising. "I must take my leave. Your friend will be here soon and I would not wish to spoil his homecoming." He stood slowly and inclined his head with grace. "I owe you my gratitude, Master Gimli. If there is ever anything I can do to assist you, you need only ask.”

"What?" Gimli rose, putting out a restraining hand. "You're in no state to go out!" He gestured in disbelief at the rapidly fading light and the sleet rattling against the window pane. "Legolas will most likely stay in Lake Town this night, and even if he does not, he would hardly wish a fellow elf to go abroad in such foul weather and so close to dark on his account. He will welcome news of Mirkwood before he enters his father's Halls. "

"For all that, I must depart."

The elf's tall figure was silhouetted briefly against the firelight as he bent to pick up his boots that lay against the hearth. It was as well Gimli was nearby, for the orange glow of the flames made visible the clench of the ellon's features as he straightened. He staggered and may even have fallen if the dwarf had not caught him by the elbow and steered him back into the chair. There he sat, hunched forwards with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I must go," he insisted weakly, seeming to have made up his mind no matter the consequences.

"You must rest, " replied Gimli in a firm tone. "That was a hard knock to the head you took there, not to mention freezing half to death in ice water."

As he spoke, he took advantage of the opportunity to push aside the silky hair and inspect the lump on the elf's temple. It was a nasty thing, having darkened and swelled during the course of the afternoon, and the softest brush of Gimli's thumb caused the ellon to sway on his seat and swallow hard, his throat flexing with the effort of containing his nausea.

"Why did you not say you were so hurt? And there's me prattling away with my tales..." Gimli harrumphed into his beard with self-recrimination.

"I assure you, I would not wish to have missed a word." The elf made a visible effort to pull himself together and rose again to his feet. This time his legs held him upright, although he looked as shaky as a young colt and any remaining colour leached from his face.

"Sit down, laddie!" Gimli caught hold of his arm and steered him firmly to the bed, backing him up like a recalcitrant horse until the straw mattress caught him behind the knees. The ellon went down onto his backside with a thump and Gimli took a firm grip of his shoulders, waiting until the blue eyes regained their focus.

"You're going nowhere," insisted the dwarf. "Although I think perhaps you should not sleep; many a warrior has fallen into too deep a sleep after a knock to the head like that."

The ellon seemed completely taken aback by the fact he had been ordered to bed and simply looked at Gimli with astonished eyes that made the dwarf feel horribly guilty, as though the whole mess was all his fault.

"It's no good looking at me like that. You’ll stay until you’re recovered.”

"You seek to detain me?" The shock and anger that seeped into the elf's expression must surely be another unfortunate symptom of elvish pride; Gimli rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Of course not, laddie. You're an adult and can make your own decisions. But why you feel you must go, I don't know. I'll gladly give you my bed and sleep in the chair; it's a better place than I've had to sleep for many a long night.”

As the elf gave no immediate sign of rising, and feeling sure he should be doing something useful, Gimli fussed around, muttering to himself, not really sure what was required. After all, of late, he'd been more in the business of causing injury than caring for the injured. The ellon was quiet, and appeared to be caught in the teeth of some internal conflict, but at least he did not move from his position on the edge of the bed. Perhaps he had seen sense at last.

Eventually Gimli noted that the elf's clothes were still too damp for someone not in the best of health, and that led to a recollection of a fearsome aunt explaining the dire outcome of wet clothing upon the body...or perhaps it was of sitting on cold stone in wet clothing, although why a dwarf should fear sitting on stone, wet or otherwise, was beyond him. In a burst of inspiration he recalled that Legolas had left his pack, and therefore his spare tunic and leggings, in the dwarf's care. Gimli pulled them out with alacrity and held them up before the elf.

"Not quite the quality you're used to, but they'll be a better fit than anything of mine."

The elf reached out, his fingers caressing the worn fabric of the green tunic as though it was something infinitely precious and not simply a stained bit of cloth.

"I am somewhat taller than Legolas," he said in a strained voice. "His clothes will not fit me." And with that he swung his legs up onto the bed and lay down, turning his back to Gimli.

The dwarf's brow furrowed in utter confusion, the ellon's unpredictable behaviour made him feel constantly wrong-footed. "You do know the lad then?"

"I do."

"Then he will no doubt be pleased to see you!"

"I fear that may not be the case."

It rankled that this stranger thought ill of his friend. He surely could not know Legolas well at all for he was the finest of elves.

"Now look, Master Elf, Legolas is a great warrior but he is also an honourable and kindly soul. You should not fear him."

"You do not understand," replied the ellon quietly. "But there is no reason why you should."

Gimli patted his shoulder in a reassuring manner, noting that the elf looked greatly startled, as though he was as little used to uninvited physical contact as he was to gestures of simple kindness. Coming rapidly to the conclusion that the ellon must lead a lonely life, and feeling rather sorry for him, Gimli took extra care with the plumping of pillows and the arrangement of the simple blanket. It was a small thing, he told himself, to give a lonely elf a little comfort.

"So," he said, not wishing either himself or the ellon to sleep, and struggling in his weariness to find a topic of conversation. "Do you work in the Elven King's Halls?" This seemed to be a likely possibility, given the ellon's fancy clothing.

The elf gave a rueful smile. "That is one way of putting it.”

"You live in Mirkwood then?"

After a lengthy pause, the ellon said firmly, "I am Mirkwood."

It seemed the blow to his head had affected him more than anticipated; Gimli found himself suddenly wide awake. Great care was required to avoid the elf slipping into a slumber from which he would never arise. With that in mind, the dwarf kept up a constant stream of banal comments as he stoked up the fire and turned down the lamps. The elf gingerly propped himself up on the pillows, folding and positioning one beneath his neck in such a way that Gimli felt sure his head pained him greatly. He rested there, his eyes following the dwarf as he moved around the room, pulling across heavy woollen drapes and placing their boots a little further from the fireplace, not wishing an excess of heat to cause the leather to crack.

Finally, unable to think of anything else to do, Gimli settled in the chair. It was comfortable enough, being padded with cushions of horsehair, and was certainly more hospitable than a bed roll in a dry ditch or damp hedgerow. He grunted his satisfaction, took out his pipe and settled down to the relaxing task of scraping the bowl clean with his pocket knife. The bitter smell of stale, burnt tobacco filled the air, bringing with it his usual keen sense of anticipation, coming as it did immediately before a fresh pipe full of fragrant leaf.

It appeared that the ellon did not share his pleasure, and when Gimli caught sight of the green tinge to his skin, he made haste to tip the scrapings into the fire and stowed his pipe away again with a sense of regret and some shame; after all Legolas had made no secret of the fact that he detested the odour of burning tobacco and pipes in general.

"My apologies," he said gruffly. "I forgot elves do not savour a fine leaf as we do."

"I find it more palatable to take leaves steeped in boiling water." The ellon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed a few times, clearly trying to take his mind off the sour smell of charred tobacco. "A bowl of apple mint is most refreshing."

"Now make that a good scrumpy apple cider and I'd agree with you!" Gimli's eyes twinkled in the lamplight. "Legolas has become partial to scrumpy. Is it to your taste, Master Elf?"

"I prefer a fine wine. Dorwinion is particularly agreeable."

"Aye, I've heard that it is, not that I've ever tried any myself. It's a sup of Kings more than dwarves, and some of them are a bit too fond of it, or so I hear!"

"Indeed?" A very stately eyebrow ascended the elf's forehead.

Gimli chuckled. "Young Legolas..." It was a strange thing but he still couldn't find it in himself to describe his friend as old, even though he was bordering on ancient in mortal terms. "He told me a few choice tales about his father! Why once he was so tipsy he..."

The temperature in the room dropped sharply, with no apparent cause. Gimli stammered to a halt, a plume of his breath hanging white in the air in front of him. Belatedly he realised it was not diplomatic to talk about a king to one of his subjects, but tact had never been one of the dwarf's strong points and he wished again that Legolas had returned earlier for there was no knowing what magic an elf carried in his person, for they were all different. He stole a glance at the ellon, it was possible, he decided, that the being was more mature than he'd thought, for although he gave no obvious outward indication of his displeasure it seemed to emanate from him in waves, and his stare was truly formidable.

After that the dwarf was careful to keep the topic of conversation away from anything personal, and they moved on to a rambling conversation about such things as the state of the roads since the war, the merits of Lembas for travelling and the sight of spring flowers so soon after the snows. The ellon seemed surprisingly knowledgeable, even of matters far beyond the borders of Mirkwood, and Gimli concluded that he must work in some capacity that allowed him access to information from outside the Woodland Realm.

At last, when they were both truly exhausted and as dawn began to lighten the sky, the elf caught at Gimli's wrist.

“Have no fear, Master Dwarf, for my mind is not addled, although I am somewhat weary.”

The focus of the ice-blue eyes was sharp enough, indeed it was surprising how the elf could give off so intimidating an air when he was propped on pillows with shadows of fatigue deepening the hollows of his cheeks. In truth, Gimli was feeling rather tired himself and could see no reason why they should not sleep awhile now the elf seemed more himself. He nodded his assent and settled back in his chair, telling himself that forty winks would do no harm.

He startled awake quite some time later, rising to his feet in alarm when he saw that the elf’s eyes were closed. It seemed, however, that the ellon merely slept deeply, his chest rising and falling steadily before Gimli's concerned gaze. The clatter of hooves in the yard drew the dwarf’s attention and he realised it must have been this that awoke him. On peering through the window he saw a familiar blond head, leaning close to that of an unnervingly tall, brown horse.

“Legolas,” he breathed, relieved to see his friend, who would surely have more influence over the ellon's unexplained desire to rush away than a dwarf. He slipped quickly out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

"Gimli!" Legolas turned to him immediately, his face lighting up with the warmth of his regard.

"You made good time, Master Elf."

"I did, mellon-nin." Keen blue eyes appraised Gimli's dishevelled appearance. "It appears you made good use of the local ale."

"The ale is fair, although it is not beer that has kept me from my rest, but an elf."

"An elf!" Legolas's eyes grew huge with astonishment. "You have made the acquaintance of an...elleth?"

"What? No! No, of course not! I didn't mean that, laddie." Gimli flushed to match his beard and snorted loudly in embarrassment. "I had the good fortune to pull an elf from the river yesterday. He's asleep in my room, although I've been hard put to make him stay."

"Perhaps he is uneasy that he owes his rescue to a dwarf?”

"No doubt that's a part of it, although it seemed to be you he did not wish to meet."

Legolas's eyebrows raised. "Does he have a name, this ellon?"

"Aye..." Gimli frowned. "I did not ask."

"Is he from Mirkwood? I would know who this elf is, who has such a dislike of me. Describe him." As he spoke, Legolas moved towards the door on swift feet.

"Well, he's tall, very tall." Gimli trotted after him, ignoring the quirk of amusement in his friend's eyebrow; banter about height was a common theme in their relationship. "He's quite young I think, as elves go, but with an air of someone who's used to getting his own way." He glanced at Legolas but the elf had paused before the door, still looking expectant, so Gimli sought inspiration and embellished his description as well as he could. "He seems quite untamed, if you know what I mean, but rather splendid in his ways. In truth, and it's an odd thing to say, he reminds me of Shadowfax."

"Shadowfax," repeated Legolas, his features moving from puzzlement and initial amusement to a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. "What colour is this elf's hair?"

"Well, now he's picked out the river dirt, it's as fair as your own, but very long, though he doesn't have all those fancy braids you wear."

"Oh Valar!" The elf seemed to steel himself and opened the door, his eyes going immediately to the bed and the livid bruise on the face of the sleeping ellon.

"Did you fight?" Legolas turned to him in horror.

"What? No! What's got into you, laddie?"

His friend was wide-eyed, his voice more timorous than Gimli had imagined possible. "He is hurt?"

"A bump to the head. He will recover well enough..."

Gimli's words faltered, astonishment on his face as Legolas seemed to blur across the room, where he laid a hand on the ellon's arm and breathed an anxious word that the dwarf did not catch. Immediately the elf opened his eyes and rose gracefully to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Legolas!"

"You are hurt!"

With no visible sign of awkwardness, Gimli's companion reached out and traced the contours of the injury with his fingertips. The ellon caught his wrist, speaking soothingly in an undertone, as though to a child. Then to Gimli's surprise he released the wrist in favour of cupping Legolas's cheek with care. After a moment Legolas drew back a little.

"You did not wish to see me."

There was a wealth of hurt in his question, and again the plaintive note. The warrior Gimli knew seemed suddenly young and unsure as the ellon dropped his hand to hold the back of Legolas's neck in a reassuring and affectionate way, the timbre of his voice deep with feeling.

"Why would I not wish to see you, ion-nin. I heard you lingered, unsure of your return. I thought it easier if you saw me when you wished to."

"Why else would I return, but to see you!"

It was the ellon's turn to seem unsure. "There are many here who have mourned your absence, as you must have missed them."

"And I will be most joyful to see them, but that is not the main reason for my return...although in truth I did wonder if the manner of my departure caused you anger?"

The elf rose from the bed, proving that he was indeed taller than Legolas by some inches. His mouth curled and the skin around his eyes crinkled, the effect altogether charming and transforming his severe features completely.

"A great deal of anger; I fear many counsellors feared for their heads."

Legolas stared at him, eyes wide. The ellon's expression softened as he continued. "And then a great deal of anguish and fear. But now..." His head tilted, hawk-like, as he appraised the smaller elf. "Now you are home."

Quite who moved first, Gimli could not have said, but suddenly the two were enfolded in each other's arms, Legolas's face buried in the fall of hair at the juncture of the ellon's neck and shoulder. The taller elf pulled him close and pressed a kiss on top of the blond head beneath his chin, a look of love and anguish upon his face. Gimli found himself gaping, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. The ellon was clearly no stranger and if the way Legolas clung onto him without restraint was anything to go by, he must surely be none other than the Elven King himself, King Thranduil Oropherion of Mirkwood.


	3. Chapter 3

.

Perhaps Gimli should have made his escape immediately, but he found himself frozen in place, feeling like an intruder but unable to tear his gaze away from the surprisingly touching reunion in front of him. A soft glow surrounded the two elves, no doubt an outward expression of their happiness.

Wishing to give them some privacy and himself time to straighten his thoughts, he made a quiet retreat, although not quiet enough it seemed to avoid detection by keen elven ears. Two pairs of penetrating eyes turned in his direction and the dwarf berated himself silently for not having noticed before the uncanny resemblance in their direct stares.

"Excuse me," he muttered, deeply embarrassed. "I'll be off...get myself a bite of breakfast."

"There is no need for haste, Master Gimli."

It was not an order, but even so Gimli found himself coming to an abrupt halt, his body instinctively obeying the air of authority that seem to exude from the Elven King.

"Yes, Gimli. Stay. We must all break our fast." Legolas gave him a tense smile. "Besides, I don't believe you two have been properly introduced." He stepped back a pace. "King Thranduil Oropherion, my father. I am pleased to introduce you to my friend, Gimli son of Gloin."

The Elven King drew himself up to his full height and inclined his head slightly in a regal manner.

Gimli bowed deeply in response, his face hot with mortification and his tongue tying itself in knots. "I did not expect to meet you in such circumstances, Lord King. I did not realise..."

"Indeed." The deep voice was smooth as oiled silk. "I believe you may have been expecting someone who looked more advanced in years."

Gimli found himself stammering an embarrassed apology, cut short by a haughty gesture.

"I jest, Master Gimli. Without your able assistance, I would not be greeting my son today."

"Adar!"

"Nay, Legolas. There is no call for your concern. I am quite recovered now I have rested."

"No call! I cannot imagine how the King would end up in the river, unless the circumstances were dire indeed!"

"Legolas, all is well. Your short friend is a very able fisherman. I am thankful for his assistance and may even forgive him his somewhat disparaging remarks about kings and their over-indulgence in wine. I cannot imagine where he would have heard such insinuations? "

A dark eyebrow raised in a languid manner, bringing the lightest dusting of pink to Legolas's cheekbones.

"Still, no matter. It is of little consequence compared to the tales of peril and daring I have been hearing."

Thranduil regarded his son with keen eyes, his voice softening. "I am sorry you have seen such dark times."

"It was fortunate that I was in the finest company."

"Indeed. For all that, I wish you had been spared."

"My regret is that I could not help you in the defence of the Woodland Realm."

The Elven King waved that aside. "You had a part to play elsewhere, and although it pained me greatly, I was glad to hear the whole truth of it, for I feel the version intended for a father's ears would have been somewhat lacking in detail."

"There was not too much unnecessary detail, I hope." A stern line appeared between the younger elf's brows and Gimli looked away in haste.

"Breakfast," he blustered, quite forgetting who he was addressing as he turned to the Elven King. "You need to eat. You didn't have enough yesterday to keep a sparrow alive; it's no wonder you're still looking pale about the gills." He shook his head in displeasure. "I'll go on and make sure they have something suitable for an elf's delicate tastes. Honey and milk perhaps?"

Legolas gaped at his retreating back and turned to his father, caught between plea for clemency and apology for his friend. To his surprise, Thranduil's expression was bemused rather than affronted, his eyes momentarily losing their icy glint as he moved gracefully in the dwarf's busy wake.

"I do favour honey and milk," he murmured quietly.

Legolas blinked a few times, sure he must be dreaming, and gave himself a good pinch, which achieved nothing but the blossoming of a small bruise. Perhaps his father was ill, he worried. After all somehow he'd ended up in the river, and now he seemed to be taking orders from a dwarf. He rushed after them in confusion, sure an explosion would occur at any moment.

It wasn't until they were seated at the table, Gimli fussing around, getting a quantity of bread and honey in his beard, and speaking directly to the Elven King in a way that was quite unheard of, that it occurred to the younger elf that his father looked more grateful than annoyed.

It was a strange meal and afterwards Legolas could not have said what he'd eaten, so entranced was he with the curious rapport between his friend and his father.

Gimli seem to be, well Gimli. A Gimli at his gruff and somewhat bombastic best, occasionally letting loose a bray of dwarven laughter at one of his own comments which seemed to be centered around the foods forced upon ailing dwarflings, chopped raw liver being a favourite.

In comparison, the Elven King was a picture of elegant restraint, draped casually over a wooden chair, his very presence elevating it from simple furniture to a throne. And yet his attention remained fixed upon the dwarf and his occasional comments made it clear that he was both listening and entertained. He accepted the honey-drenched warm bread and bowl of hot milk with evident pleasure, the expression on his face more that of someone receiving a precious gift than a simple breakfast. Perhaps, thought Legolas, there lay the answer. No amount of fine breakfasts served to a king by servants equalled the simple pleasure of being handed something plain but satisfying in an unbidden act of companionship.

After they had eaten their fill, they took their leave of the guest house and headed towards the Elven King's halls on foot, the horse following along behind, nibbling at the tops of the frozen grasses as he went.

The grey gloom of the early morning had lifted while they were eating, and a pale, wintry sun brought the sparkle of a million tiny crystals to the ice coated rocks and picked out brilliant white splashes of snow trapped in crevices and amongst long stalks. Gimli breathed in deeply of the clear, crisp air and felt, as he often did since the war, simply glad to be alive. He blew out again slowly, his breath a white plume against the backdrop of blue sky as he considered, and rejected, a pipe of tobacco. A few paces in front of him the elves stepped lightly across the slippery stones, the head of the taller inclined towards the shorter and the soft murmur of their conversation unheard over the sound of the rushing river. The dwarf kept his distance, wanting to give father and son some privacy. It was the least he could do, he thought, especially as he'd inadvertently given Thranduil such a vivid description of their perils.

When they reached the site where Gimli had pulled the Elven King from the water, Legolas lifted the soaked and dirty cloak from the floor. He passed the material from hand to hand in a distracted manner, eyeing the raging torrent before him with some dismay.

"I owe you my gratitude," he said at last in a grim tone, his cheeks white as he turned to face Gimli.

The dwarf waved it away, pointing instead to the cloak, which Legolas had folded neatly and placed upon a boulder. "You're leaving that here?"

The Elven King looked at it with a small smile. "I shall no doubt see it again...a fine waistcoat or a gown perhaps, at a feast day in Dale."

It pleased him, thought Gimli with surprise, that the exquisite material would adorn some man of Dale, or his wife, or maybe several of their children.

Further speculation about the future of Thranduil's clothing was interrupted by a thud of hooves as a small party of elves, clad in armour and well armed, emerged from the trees ahead of them. They reined in, forming a loose semi-circle around the Elven King and his companions. Their leader dismounted immediately, removing his helmet to reveal fair features and an expression of overwhelming relief as he bowed deeply.

"We feared for your safety, Lord King. You did not return this dawn as planned."

"As you see, I am well enough, and in good company."

"Hir-nin." The elf turned next to Legolas, his formal bow completely failing to hide his joy. Legolas stepped forwards and clasped his forearm in greeting, his face lighting up with his pleasure.

"Well met, mellon-nin."

Moments later, after a flurry of greetings and laughter and a few puzzled glances in Gimli's direction, the party headed out, the Elven King now mounted and Gimli and Legolas sharing their own steed in their customary manner.

"Perhaps you could let me down here?" Gimli hissed as they reached the edge of the thick blanket of trees, finding his earlier fears increased tenfold under the shadow of their dark branches. He dug his fingers into Legolas's hip, adding pressure to demonstrate the urgency of the matter.

"You wish to walk?"

"No, Master Elf. I wish to avoid being thrown into your father's dungeons, or worse! "

Legolas chuckled. "He seems to find you agreeable. Besides, it is not likely that my father will imprison someone to whom he owes his life. Nor someone who is a friend to his son. Although..." He twisted around to look down at the dwarf, humour sparkling in his eyes. "That may change when he hears you likened him to a horse."

Gimli's eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, and as Thranduil's mount could move as stealthily as any elf, he appeared soundlessly beside them, startling the dwarf considerably.

"You need not be concerned, Master Gimli. It would be ill-mannered to incarcerate someone who pulled me from the river." The Elven King leaned forwards, sliding his hand down his horse's long neck, causing its skin to ripple with pleasure as his sharp gaze momentarily fixed upon the dwarf. "I shall, however, enjoy hearing more about this horse."

Although Gimli could not see his face, Legolas's amusement was evident in the quake of his shoulders.

"You should close your mouth," the elf said lightly. "No matter you are very hairy around the face, there is still a likelihood of a bug getting in if you leave it open like that!"

Gimli snorted. "There are few insects at this time of year, elf! I may not be a fey woodland sprite, but even I know that!"

Legolas laughed aloud, the sound of his merriment causing his kin to smile in turn. A dark-haired elf began to sing a merry song of a returning hero. Soon the others joined in, and in what seemed no time at all they rounded a bend in the track and found before them the magnificent entrance to Thranduil's Halls. There they dismounted, Legolas gesturing with delight at the doorway.

"Gimli, mellon-nin, elvellon, welcome to my home!"

The dwarf cleared his throat and grinned up at him, finding himself intrigued by the promise of fine carvings within the doors. "Not bad, laddie," he said gruffly. "Not bad at all."

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for reading! I do hope you enjoyed this little tale. Apologies for the length of time to update... domestic emergencies took over.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and leaving kudos, and most especially thank you for the kind comments. They do truly keep me writing and I love to hear from you.
> 
> No profit intended or desired. All credit to Tolkien and Jackson.


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